


A Maze of Wrens and Jasmine

by Brynrei



Category: The Maze Runner (2014), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, Artist!Newt, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other: See Story Notes, POV Third Person Limited, Past Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychosis, Suicide Attempt, Therapy, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-13 23:13:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3399821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brynrei/pseuds/Brynrei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas didn't remember anything of what they told him happening. What he did remember couldn't have happened, or at least it wasn't worth mentioning to anyone. The final notion was that something was wrong in his head and that he should stay at the mental institution for a few weeks, just in case. It wasn't like there was anything that he could do about it. They said that he was either psychotic or suicidal: or both. He was sure that he wasn't either and he was also sure that both were bad, until his new roommate, an older boy with a limp and a sharp wit, started to convince him otherwise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Episode; A Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Despite being neurodivergent myself, I don't have any of the conditions talked about in this story nor have I ever been admitted to a mental hospital. I have done a lot of research on these topics, but please tell me if you feel like what I am portraying is inaccurate. There are generally a lot of triggers for this story and I will try to put in all of them for each chapter (please inform me if I miss any).
> 
> This chapter includes ableist slurs, hallucinations, mentions of suicide attempts, psychotic episodes and mentions thereof, and general anxiety/panic.

The first thing that he noticed was that he could hardly breathe. His breaths were coming in short, ragged gasps, as if immense pressure was being applied to his ribcage. The second thing that he noticed were the walls. They were closing in on him. He ran faster. He couldn't outrun them.

Screeches tailed him. They were right on his heels. He heard gross metallic grating behind him, but his legs wouldn't push him much farther. Something collided with his foot and he flew forward, sprawling on the stone ground. He panted, turning around in time to see something hideous. A flash of light. A screech. Then it was gone.

Darkness.

_Thomas._

He jolted, staring wildly into the blackness concealing the familiar feminine voice. There was no one around. Nothing.

_Tom, listen to me._

He flailed for a grip on the nonexistent floor and felt himself shift to a sitting position. His heart was still racing, pumping wildly enough that he could barely hear her through the blood rushing in his ears.

_Everything is going to change._

He looked around frantically; his breathing was still erratic. He covered his ears from her voice.

_Today is the day._

He squeezed his eyes shut, praying for her to stop.

_Wake up!_

\---

“Thomas, honey, wake up.”

Thomas blinked his eyes open. The bright fluorescent lights from the ceiling stung momentarily and he focused his gaze on the woman leaning over him. She looked bland to him, dressed in light colors. He was too tired to pay attention to anything else about her. He looked around and didn't recognize the place. Everything was white. A black TV hung in the corner, contrasting the setup.

“Do you remember what happened?” she asked with a gentle tone.

He paused for a moment and then shook his head, still trying to get his bearings. His eyes darted around the room, looking for something to hold on to. There was no clock. He looked down at the white sheets and the wire sticking out of his arm. It was held down with a piece of cloth and tape and led to an IV.

Thomas started breathing heavily, panic rising in his throat. The nurse grabbed his arm, urging him to stay calm and to take deep breaths. He hated hospitals. They sickened him. Wires, probes, needles, scans, disease. It was sick. Images flashed before his eyes. He couldn’t breathe and he was gasping too hard at the same time. Needles, blood, metal, death, screaming--

“Listen. Listen to me. Thomas?”

He tried to still his breathing. It wasn't working. He could feel his pulse stronger where the needle was. It was starting to hurt. He couldn't move.

“You're okay. You're fine. You're safe. No one will hurt you here. Okay? The IV is for your nutrients. You have been unconscious for a few days. You are safe now. Okay?”

For a split second, he wanted to believe that.

“I'm going to bring your mom in, is that okay?”

Thomas felt himself nod, forced himself to nod. His breathing steadied. She was something that he could hold onto. He could almost see straight again.

“Alright. They're going to come in now.”

_They?_ he thought.

The door to the room opened and in stepped his mother. She was dressed well and her posture was strong as usual but her face betrayed her emotions. She was followed by who Thomas assumed was the doctor, a dark woman dressed in white.

“Oh, Tommy, baby,” his mother exclaimed, running over to the edge of his bed. The nurse stood from her chair and offered it to his mother, which she gladly accepted. She stroked his hair affectionately and planted a kiss on his forehead. “Oh darling, I’m so glad you’re awake. You’re okay.”

Thomas’s mind was racing from all of the action and he clenched his fists, forcing his heart to calm down. “Mom… What happened?” His voice sounded hoarse, as if it hadn't been used for years. His throat hurt.

His mother looked sad, the edges of her dark eyes drooping. Thomas had always thought that they were beautiful and wished that he had them instead of his father’s lighter ones. In that moment, however, they only looked pained.

She shook her head, seemingly holding back tears. “How could you do that, Thomas? Don’t you know how much we love you?”

“Do what? What did I do?” he frowned, almost getting impatient. His voice cracked.

“What parts do you remember?” the doctor stepped in, laying a hand on his mother’s shoulder as if urging her back slightly. He couldn’t make out her name tag from where she stood. She held a clipboard in her other hand, looking over the papers on it.

“I don't know.” He paused. What he remembered didn't seem real. No. It did, but it didn't seem sane. Would they think that he was crazy if he told them? “I was running from something. I heard a voice. I fell. I saw bright lights. Then nothing.” That was as much as he was willing to share. Something hideous lurked in the corner of his mind, urging him to name it. It pushed and prodded at him and he dug his nails into his palms harder to make it stop.

_Everything is going to change._

It was a painful echo in the back of his head. He saw his knuckles turn white and forced himself to unclench his fists.

The doctor looked thoughtful. She met his eyes and spoke slowly. “Thomas, you were seen in the middle of the road a few blocks from your house. You jumped and fell onto one of the lanes and the driver stopped just in time to avoid hitting you. When he reported the incident, he called emergency services because you were half-conscious but unresponsive and he recalled that you were saying things that made no sense, until you lost consciousness later. You have been mostly asleep for two days since. You haven’t suffered any major injuries so we have no reason to keep you here further. Don’t be alarmed if you feel sore for a while since you fell on the pavement, okay?”

Thomas nodded slowly, taking it all in.

“However,” the doctor continued, “We cannot yet rule out the possibility that this was a psychotic episode and/or a suicide attempt, so it is in everyone’s best interest that you attend residential, at least for the minimum stay of 72 hours. You will see therapists and psychologists there who will better analyze your mental state and increase your stay if need be. Based on your version of the story and your condition when we brought you in, it is likely that you could have been suffering a hallucination and may or may not have subconsciously known of the impending danger. Either way, you have proven to be a danger to yourself and possibly others, which is why a therapeutic environment is the best choice. Your mother has agreed to this idea already.”

“What?” he rasped.

“A mental hospital, darling,” his mother said.

Thomas was stunned. What could he say? At least there wouldn't be needles, right?

His mother grasped his hand gently. Tears formed in her eyes. “It’s for your own good, sweetie. Okay? You’ll be fine."

He swallowed. Then he nodded quietly, knowing that it was the best choice.

Something whispered to him, something familiar.

_I told you that everything would change._


	2. Her Voice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas meets his roommate and some of the other residents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings present for ableist language, auditory hallucinations, vague disassociation, past character death mention, and general confinement.

The building loomed in front of him. He couldn’t breathe. It was large and bland, with many rows of windows piled up, facing him. Most had the blinds closed, and all of them had bars on the windows. Thomas shivered. This looked like a prison.

Above the door, in large, bold letters, it read:

**World Institute of Corrections and Kinesiotherapy/Euthenics Department**

“What does any of that mean?” he asked his mother.

“It’s a large company, dear. They provide a lot of physical therapy as well as sects like this one, which are mainly mental institutions. I read about them online. They have very high success rates.”

Thomas nodded in understanding, but the capital letters of the bold words popped out at him.

**WICKED**

He didn't want to go in. He had no choice.

His mother rubbed his shoulder soothingly and they walked forward and into the hospital. The paperwork was done already. He remembered having to sign forms of consent: no socializing with patients after he was discharged, etc. He had barely registered it, just as he had barely registered his mother letting go of him, kissing him goodbye, another woman asking his name, leading him down the hall…

Thomas looked around the room. His room. It was plain. Everything was so very plain recently. He felt heat stirring inside of him. He willed it down. It’s pointless, it’s trivial. Everything was supposed to be bland; this was a hospital. There were two beds, both made. An oval-shaped nightstand stood between them with a lamp in the middle of it. One of the beds had belongings scattered all over it. He sat down on the other one, hardly remembering that one of the nurses was standing in the middle of the room and explaining something to him. He looked up at her but couldn’t focus on her words. He nodded anyway.

She smiled too much. It was fake. He felt the anger again.

“Got it, yeah?” she chirped and he nodded again absently. “Someone will check up on you again for lights-out. Remember: you’re not allowed to close this door at any time, except for when it stays slightly open at night time. You’re not allowed to leave your room at night and there will be patrols in the hallways to make sure of that. Anyway, the other boys should be in the cafeteria right now, so you can head on over there if you like. It’s out the door and to your left.”

She disappeared out of the room.

Thomas sighed and leaned back against the wall next to his bed. He looked over at the other bed. It was neatly but hurriedly made and had a few things scattered on it. A notebook lay wide open near the lump of the pillow. Thomas sat up again and glanced at it carefully, even though no one was in the room with him. It had a few anatomical drawings of hands in it, as well as a few faces. There were neat words scrawled around the images which were too difficult for Thomas to read without standing up and looking at them carefully. He decided not to invade his roommate’s privacy further.

Thomas turned and lied back on his bed with his head on the pillow, squinting at the ceiling. He wondered who his roommate would be. He knew nothing of him. And even if the nurse did say, he missed almost everything that came out of her mouth. He focused on the strange patterns on the ceiling above him again, willing other thoughts out of his head. The patterns seemed to move and swirl.

He heard footsteps and voices echoing down the hall and was instantly too aware that more time had passed than he thought. He looked at his wrist for his watch but remembered that they had taken it from him. A sense of fear shook him and he inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, counting slowly to himself. His hands were at his temples. He heard a voice getting closer and calling something out, along with footsteps coming towards him-- then they stopped.

“Asleep already?” a voice called out to him and he opened his eyes and sat up to see a tall boy barely in the doorway.

“Uh, no, I just spaced. Sorry.”

“First day. It’s bloody difficult, I know,” the other boy said. Thomas caught his English accent that time. At least, he thought that it was English. He vaguely remembered history class and learning about the other countries in Great Britain. They escaped him.

The boy was thin and had layered blond hair. He looked to be about the same age as Thomas, possibly a little older; he was seventeen at the most. He was wearing a gray shirt and dark jeans. His arms were muscled but he wasn't heavily built, just lean. He had a square jaw and dark eyes which were complemented by the traces of bags underneath them. Something seemed off about the way that he held himself but Thomas couldn’t place it.

“They told me you were comin’ in tomorrow morning, but they mess things up a lot so it’s fine. They usually don’t take patients in at this hour of the day though. Anyway, sorry ‘bout the mess.” As he said this, the boy walked over to his own bed and picked up his notebook, along with some of his other things. He sat down on the edge of the bed and put the things that he had gathered in his lap. “You gonna say anything, Newbie, or are ya gonna keep starin’ at me?” He looked back up at Thomas with a questioning glance.

Thomas spluttered, “No, sorry, I'm just tired. I think I've been disassociating or something… I was meant to come yesterday though, yeah, but my mom made an arrangement to drop me off tonight ‘cause she’s headed out of town and wouldn't have been able to drop me off in the morning.”

A voice called in the near distance, “Newt, what’s taking so long?”

The boy opposite Thomas sighed and yelled back, “Hold on a bit, Minho!”

Thomas raised his eyebrow in question.

As if to answer him, the other boy said, with a flick of the thumb towards the door, “Sorry, friend’s waiting. I’m Newt, by the way.” He held out his hand.

“Thomas.” He took Newt’s hand and shook it.

“Thomas. Alright. Well, I’m about to head back, you coming?” Thomas hesitated, then shrugged. Newt motioned for him to follow and stepped out of the door, holding onto his belongings carefully, and veered left. Thomas followed.

They walked down the hallway and Thomas trailed a few feet behind Newt. He couldn’t help but notice his new roommate’s gait: he walked with a limp. His right leg trailed behind and his ankle didn't seem to have the necessary mobility for a proper stride. This threw off his posture slightly and Thomas realized that that was why his stance had seemed strange to him.

They reached the cafeteria in no time and Newt walked over to a table that seated a few other boys. Thomas followed him. No one at the table was eating, but plenty of people at other tables in the small room had food in front of them. As soon as the boys at Newt’s table saw him, they burst out cheering and one of the nurses had to tell them to keep the volume under control.

Newt motioned for Thomas to sit beside him and he did so. “Guys, this is Thomas. Newbie roommate.” Newt announced and Thomas instantly felt scrutinized under their stares.

“I’m Alby,” the boy across from Thomas spoke. He had dark skin and a shaven head and he seemed to present himself with an air of authority. Thomas nodded in understanding, attempting a smile at the stranger.

One by one they introduced themselves. On the other side of Newt sat Minho, an Asian boy with olive skin and dark hair. He was the one that had yelled at Newt to hurry up. His build was similar to Alby’s; they both looked strong. A large dark-haired kid that kept squinting at Thomas sat next to Minho-- “Don’t mind Dally, he’s bad at making friends.” Around the table sat a few others: Winston, Jeff, Clint, Frypan. A young quiet boy sat at the edge; Thomas remembered his name to be Chuck.

After the few minutes of introductions were over, they all started chattering again. Thomas was included but he couldn’t think of what to say most of the time.

“Hey, Newt, you didn't get to your point. Your sketchbook,” Minho spoke up at some point, gesturing to it.

“Oh. I forgot, hold on.” Newt rummaged through the notebook, flipping through the pages.

“Wait, stop,” Minho hissed.

“Why?”

“I think I just saw porn in there.”

Thomas slowly looked over Newt's shoulder as well, squinting at the doodles.

Newt sighed, rolled his eyes, and kept flipping through the pages of his drawings. “Those were anatomical studies-- which is what most of this bloody is. I’m pretty sure that they’d confiscate it if it was porn.”

The boys on the other side of the table had been having their own conversations but a few of them were looking at Newt and Minho in question.

In response to that, Newt said, “Minho thinks that just because I have the ability to draw, I will quench his _unimaginable_ thirst by drawing some buggin’ babes for him to fawn over.” Most of the boys seemed to accept this response, nodding in unison and turning back to their own discussions. “Anyway,” Newt continued, speaking to Minho after he flipped through a few more pages, “I was gonna show you…”

Thomas felt everything grow muffled and distant around him and he zoned out, staring at the still clock on the wall across from him. It was unimaginably slow. Thomas could see the second hand moving in between each tick, slowly…

\---

Alby was waving a hand in front of his face. “You alright there, Thomas?”

Thomas blinked and nodded, coming to. He stood up as he saw the others leave and started walking toward the exit. He saw Newt not far in front and jogged to catch up, before slowing his pace to not seem too needy. He had forgotten where their room was. Newt turned around and noticed him and he stopped to let Thomas catch up to him at a slower pace.

“You alright, Tommy? You kind of zoned out there in the cafeteria a little. I didn't want to bug you, though.”

“What? Yeah, I’m fine,” Thomas answered. “Wait, did you just call me ‘Tommy?’”

Newt shrugged, walking toward their shared room. Thomas tried to keep his attention away from the other’s limp. It was so distracting to him for some reason. “Is there a problem with me calling you ‘Tommy?’”

Thomas paused as Newt went into the room. He followed him. “No, not really.”

“Good,” Newt said, plopping down on his bed. He kicked off his slippers-- favoring his left leg as he slipped off his right slipper with it and then shaking his left leg until the left one fell off as well, Thomas noted-- and gently tossed his notebook on the round nightstand next to the head of his bed. “The staff will be making their runs shortly to see that everyone’s in bed. Lights go out at 10:00, but that doesn't mean you have to go to sleep at that time.”

“Yeah,” Thomas nodded, “I think I got that part down.” He sat down on his bed and leaned back against the wall next to it.

“Good that,” Newt said. He rolled onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow.

Thomas hesitated before saying, “Hey Newt, can I ask you something?”

“Yes, I’m actually from London, and no, I don’t want to talk about it,” Newt mumbled, dangling his bad leg in the air as a visual for the second half of the sentence.

Thomas frowned, then, not wanting to seem like that was what he had wanted to know about, he said: “Actually I wanted to know if your first name is really ‘Newt.’”

Newt paused, turning his head to better face Thomas. “Oh, yeah. I mean it’s what I go by, so yeah.”

His reaction seemed weird to Thomas but he let it go.

“Is ‘Tommy’ really your first name too, then?”

“What? Yeah. I mean no. It’s Thomas.”

“Same thing.” Newt chuckled.

“No one really calls me ‘Tommy’ or ‘Tom,’ though, except for my mom and-- well yeah, just my mom.”

Newt flipped over onto his back again and propped himself up on his elbows, gazing at Thomas and looking a little skeptical, “Were you about to say something there?”

Thomas paused. “Well, and you I mean. Now. I guess.”

_Tom._

“Mmhm. Okay, Tommy.” Newt didn't hide his disbelief at all and Thomas sank back against the wall.

“I mean, my sister used to as well, but uh…”

“‘But uh?’”

Thomas sighed, “She passed a few months ago.”

_Tom. I know you can hear me._

“I’m sorry to hear that, man.” Newt actually did look very sympathetic, giving Thomas a weak smile. He lied back down again and folded his hands behind his head. “I know how that feels.” Scratch that, he was empathetic. Thomas suddenly felt guilty for some reason: he had clearly reminded Newt of his own loss, whatever that was.

“Yeah,” Thomas said, unable to stop himself from continuing, “we were very close.”

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine. Thanks.”

A moment of silence stretched between them and a nurse popped into the room, announcing that it was 10:00 and turning off the main light switch. The small lamp on their nightstand stayed lit, however. She closed the door lightly as she left, leaving it ajar with a small crack through which light shone out of the room.

“You better get some sleep for your first actual day tomorrow. They wake us up early.”

Thomas nodded as he lay down in his bed, got under the covers, and stared up at the ceiling again. He looked over at Newt, who was now sitting up, pawing through the pages of his notebook thoughtfully. “What about you, are you going to sleep?”

Newt shrugged and shook his head. “I’m an insomniac, and it’s really kicking in today, so I’ll be up for a while. You should sleep, though. I’ll turn the lamp off if it bothers you.”

“No, it’s fine. Leave it.”

_Tom._

Thomas rolled over onto his side, facing the wall, and closed his eyes. His mind raced. He soon fell into a deep sleep, but his subconscious spawned and grew. Something clawed at him in his sleep. A voice.

_Thomas._

_Run._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hardest part was figuring out what WICKED should stand for.
> 
> Also two chapters in one day will not be a normal thing; I just already had them written.


	3. Like a Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas is curious and Newt talks a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for ableist slurs, hallucinations, and internalized sanism/mentalist/mental ableism

Thomas saw a girl. She stood with her back facing him. Her dark hair flowed behind her, as if carried by a wind that Thomas couldn't feel. She was shorter than he was and looked familiar. Her loose clothes billowed in the imaginary breeze. In front of her was a white distance that contrasted the dusty ground, which seemed to end right in front of her feet. She was standing on a cliff beyond which was nothing but light.

"Tom."

It was a quiet hum in the wind and Thomas almost thought that he had imagined it. He squinted, taking a step towards her and feeling the urge to reach out with his hand.

"Tom." This time she turned her head around and he was sure that she had said his name. She gazed at him with icy blue eyes and he froze.

"What's going on?" he asked. He felt his voice waver.

She was now completely facing him with a neutral expression on her face; it was completely unreadable. All of a sudden, walls appeared on each side of Thomas, as if they had zoomed and fallen into place. The space behind the girl gained a starry look, like an endless sky stretching into the distance.

For the first time, her lips curved into a slight smile.

"I have to go," she said.

Thomas didn't get a chance to ask her what she meant before she stepped backwards with one foot and disappeared over the cliff.

"No!" he yelled, reaching out towards her on impulse just as she slipped from view. He stumbled towards the cliff but didn't get a chance to look over it. Something had come from below and jumped at him. Thomas fell backwards, struggling as it knocked the breath out of him. He coughed, trying to push it off of himself but it was too heavy. It was almost slimy to the touch and it was writhing. He punched at it, kicking his legs out wildly.

"Thomas!"

The voice was different now; it was dry and husky, a susurrus. Thomas could barely hear it as the creature on top of him pinned his arms back above his head. The restraints felt metallic and Thomas felt his pulse quicken. He screamed.

"Thomas!"

Louder and clearer now. Suddenly the creature was gone and Newt was looking down at Thomas with a concerned expression. His blond hair was messy and uncombed. 

"You alright?" he asked.

Thomas couldn't respond; his throat was closed up. He lay panting. Slowly, Newt let go of Thomas's wrists-- not that Thomas had noticed that he had been holding them-- and leaned away a bit, although the perturbed emotion on his face didn't change.

"Tommy?"

"Yeah," Thomas finally breathed. He sat up slowly and rubbed his head. The image of the girl still danced in the back of his mind. He could still hear her voice echoing; it was almost as loud as the nonstop hammer of his heartbeat in his ears.

Newt didn't look convinced. He steadily stepped away from Thomas's bed and sat on the edge of his own, but his gaze didn't leave Thomas.

"Shit," Thomas spoke as something dawned on him, "did I wake you?"

To his relief, the other boy shook his head. "They're about to wake us up anyway. It's almost eight. I've been falling in and out of sleep for the whole night, so it's not like it would'a mattered."

"Oh," Thomas said, mostly because that was all that he felt he could say in response.

"By the way," Newt continued, "you didn't unpack your stuff." He gestured to Thomas's bag, which lay at the foot of his bed. Thomas had completely forgotten about it. "You also forgot to get changed before bed. I meant to tell ya but you looked like you were already asleep and I didn't wanna bug ya."

Thomas looked down at the jeans and dark t-shirt he was still wearing. 

"Also, the nurse that checked on us is new so it probably slipped past her mind to tell ya. They've been short on staff lately and a lot of them have gotten buggin' forgetful, especially since ya'd arrived off-schedule and all. Someone should be givin' you a tour today, though. But, for now, once someone comes in to officially 'wake us up,' your best bet might be a shower and a change of clothes."

Thomas nodded, trying to take in the influx of information. 

The same staff member came in within moments and both boys headed off towards the bathrooms.

They didn't speak of the incident that had happened that morning.

\---

“So, you never told us your story," Minho asked him at breakfast, leaning his elbows on the table to look past Newt and at Thomas.

They were sitting in almost the same arrangement as the previous day; Minho was on Newt’s left and Thomas on his right with Alby and a few others sitting across from them. Most of the others around them were eating and Thomas unenthusiastically poked the eggs with his fork.

Minho continued, “What're you in for?”

Thomas paused. “Aren't you not supposed to ask that question?” He yawned at the last part, stretching out the word.

“Hey, if you don’t want to tell us, that’s fine,” Minho said. “But you can.” He shifted closer towards Thomas, forcing Newt to lean back a little with an irritated expression. “I’m in here cause I’m a pathological liar,” Minho whispered.

“Really?”

“Nah, that’s a lie.” Minho chuckled at his own joke. Thomas looked a little lost.

“He’s got a buggin’ superiority complex is what he has,” Newt said instead, not very amused. He rubbed at the bags under his eyes; they were more prominent than the day before. “But he will lie to get his kicks.” He shot his friend a glance.

Minho nodded, “It’s true. I’m a clinical narcissist.”

Thomas nodded despite himself. He couldn’t tell if these kids weren't really sick or if their jokes were some kind of coping mechanism. It almost frightened him.

“Well, what’re you in for?” Minho asked again. “Are you a psycho? Who’d you kill?”

Thomas almost felt his blood run cold at that word, although he didn't know why, and he was about to shake his head when he was interrupted.

“Oh, that’s rich,” Newt retorted, yawning. “Shit, Tommy, you've started it.”

“What?”

“You yawned like a minute ago and infected me. It’s bloody contagious.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“You deserved it, Newt. It looks like you've already infected Thomas with your insomnia; the slinthead looks almost as bad as you do,” Alby noted. “No offence,” he said to Thomas. Thomas wasn't convinced that he meant that last part.

Newt huffed. He leaned his elbows on the table, narrowly missing his tray of food, and ran his hands through his hair. “Nope, he slept like a baby. Besides, it’s bloody impossible to look as bad as me, even if he was tryin' to.”

“You don’t look that bad.” Thomas gave him a small smile. He tried to hide the fact that he let out a breath of relief when Newt didn't tell the others about that morning's occurrence.

“That’s real considerate, Tommy, but I've had better days.”

They ate the rest of their breakfast in silence.

\---

As they made their way back to their rooms, Thomas followed Newt a pace or two behind. He was surprised at how quickly the other boy walked despite his bad leg then figured that the brisk pace must be to compensate for it. He didn't know that he had been frowning to himself until Newt told him to save it for later once they had entered the room.

He didn't have time to respond before his roommate continued talking.

“It’s Thursday, so there’s Group in about ten minutes,” Newt told him, tidying up his bed. Thomas did the same.

“Group?”

Newt nodded and sat down on his bed, smoothing the covers down with his palms. “Group therapy. A bunch of us basically show up and talk about our problems and our journeys. I doubt you'll have to go this time, though, considering you're gonna be shown around a bit. You'll probably be having your own private session with a therapist anyway.”

Thomas nodded in understanding. “Hey Newt, can I ask you something again?”

“You just did.” He chuckled at Thomas’s frown in response and continued, “Kidding. Shoot.”

“In the night, are you sure I slept fine? Besides the thing this morning, I mean." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I didn't do anything weird?”

Sighing, Newt leaned his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. His fingers were loosely curled against his jaw as he gazed at Thomas with an insightful glint in his eyes. “Tommy, even if ya had, would it make any difference? I’m not about to bug ya and ask why you’re here, nor am I about to tell anyone else about whatever thing you’re worried about accidentally doing. That’d be insensitive.”

Thomas almost felt guilty about wanting to ask his roommate why he had been admitted. Newt sounded like he wasn't talking only about himself.

“Look, if you’re really worried about it, I’ll tell ya,” Newt continued after a moment of mutual silence. “You said some weird things in your sleep that I couldn’t really make out. You woke up at about two in the morning wildly asking what time it was, and then you went back to sleep before I could answer.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“Of course ya don’t. Sometimes people open their eyes and say half-coherent things while still asleep. It happens. I don’t know if it was a random occurrence or if it’s something to do with why you’re here, I don’t know ya well enough to figure it out, and I’m not about to ask. That’s it.”

"What about this morning?" Thomas reluctantly brought it up again, but he really needed to know.

Newt exhaled and ran a hand along his temple. "I woke up. Saw you kinda tossin' and turnin' in your sleep or something, I don't know. Then you started mumbling, and I didn't think much of it. Then you opened your eyes and loudly said 'no,' and that bloody got me, so I walked over to see if you were okay. You started thrashin' so I said your name but you didn't register it, and then you started hyperventilating so I grabbed your arms and you screamed. Then you finally woke up. I'm assuming it was some horrible nightmare but, again, I'm not askin' what it was. I had one on my first night here, too."

Thomas thought for a minute, trying to take it all in. Eventually he spoke, saying the only thing he could think of: “Thanks.”

"Why?"

He didn't really know. "You're not prying," he said after a minute of thought, "but you're being sincere about it."

“Don’t mention it. It’s common courtesy.”

“That still means a lot. Minho seemed to be really invested in why I was sent here.”

Newt shrugged, shifting his position and leaning back against the wall behind his bed with his arms behind his head. He raised his bad foot and laid it over his other knee. “The slinthead wasn't being serious. He can be a good guy if he tries. He has no tact, though, and I think that bein’ funny helps him cope. Even if what he says is offensive, towards others and himself. Like I said: no tact.”

Thomas hummed thoughtfully. He had been right.

"Can I ask one more thing, then?"

"You and all these bloody questions," Newt shook his head, but he didn't look exasperated or annoyed, just amused. "Go ahead."

Thomas thought back to the conversation they had that morning. "When Minho was asking me about why I was here, and you interrupted and subtly changed the conversation topic, did you do that on purpose?"

The other boy smiled slightly. "I didn't want him gettin' ahead of himself. Plus, you looked uncomfortable. So I guess you could say that."

Before Thomas could respond, a nurse appeared in the doorway. Except she looked different, dressed in more formal attire.

"Hello, Thomas. Would you come with me, please?"

He nodded and got up, waving a goodbye to Newt before he disappeared out the door. He didn't recognize the lady; she was much shorter than he was and had long, brown hair. She was petite and beautiful, almost looking too out-of-place in her white uniform. He got the vibe that she was very intelligent.

"I'm Dr. Brenda Despain," she said as she led him down the hall after turning right. "I mostly work in the Kinesiotherapy Wing of the hospital, but due to an absence of staff, I'll be giving you a basic tour of the facility. Because you were admitted at a late time of day, you weren't given the tour. I see that you have figured some things out on your own already, which is good. I'll also give you a weekly schedule to make sure you know how things work."

She stopped at a door, making Thomas almost run into her. 

"Do you go by 'Tom?' Or 'Tommy,' by any chance?" she asked him out of the blue.

He shook his head. Then he thought of Newt. And the girl. The girl in his dream, the girl who--

_Tom._

"Are you alright, Thomas? A simple 'no' would suffice," said Dr. Despain. 

Thomas became aware that he stood almost motionless, having been staring at her. "Yeah, sorry," he coughed, snapping out of it. A light blush crept onto his cheeks. The voice echoed softly in his head and the image of the girl was vivid in his mind's eye as well.

The doctor nodded, although Thomas wasn't sure that she believed him. It probably came from the job; he imagined that a lot of patients were dishonest or stubborn with her. He felt a little bad for thinking that.

She led him around the institution. He had already figured out where the bathrooms and the cafeteria were. She showed him a few of the private counselling offices. He found out that the floor below housed girls-- he had been wondering why there were only boys rooming with him-- and that the other few floors were used for physical therapy and private wards, among other things. The tour took longer than Thomas thought it would, and by the end of it, he was sitting on his room back in his and Newt's room while staring at a slip of paper. Dr. Despain had told him that he didn't need to go to group therapy that day and was going to have an appointment scheduled with a counselor as soon as possible.

The paper in his hands was a printed weekly schedule. Some things written on it were starred as movable. Three things stayed the same for each day: breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He looked at 'Thursday,' and saw that Group was from 9:30 am til 11:00 am. He felt the impulse to check his wrist to see how long he would have to wait to socialize with the others again, before he remembered that he still hadn't gotten his watch back.

Out of anything else to do, Thomas started to finally unpack his bag. He had left it open after changing and a shirt was draped partially out of the bag. He picked it up and opened the small closet on the wall next to his bed. It was split halfway down the middle, with the hangars on the right side unoccupied. There was a small dresser underneath the shirts. He hung up the shirt and proceeded to do the same with the rest of them. He found a few empty drawers, all conveniently on the right side, and shoved the rest of his clothes in them. He got the feeling that Newt liked order.

He heard footsteps down the hall just as he was finishing up and Newt appeared in the doorway. He looked just as tired as he had been earlier.

"Hey," Thomas said as he closed the closet door and took a seat on his bed.

Newt nodded at him in greeting. "Glad ya finally got yourself sorted out there, Tommy."

"How was Group?"

"Same as per bloody usual," he responded and kicked off his slippers again, lying back on his bed. "You're lucky you missed it; it was a downright bore."

"What do you even do there, besides talk about your lives?"

"On occasion, we do some kind of weird activity. Usually not on Thursdays, though. Sometimes it's team-building or somethin' else 'therapeutic,'" Newt shrugged.

Thomas didn't know whether he should be excited for Group or not. Newt made it seem like the latter. However, Newt also made himself out to be pretty bitter, or at least that's what Thomas thought.

"Anyway, I've got PT right about now," Newt sat back up and glanced at his watch and Thomas ached for his own to be back on his wrist, "and they'll come and get me if I don't show up in the next few minutes. So I'll catch ya later."

"PT?"

"Physical therapy. Or kinesiotherapy, as they call it here. For my leg," Newt explained. "In case you haven't noticed," he added, voice thinly veiled with sarcasm, "this thing's busted and I've a bit of trouble walkin'." He gestured to his foot before standing up. "See ya in a bit, yeah?"

"Yeah."

With that, Newt left. Thomas sank back against the wall behind his bed, breathing out a sigh as boredom took him. He was considering falling asleep again before a voice came from the doorway.

"Thomas."

He looked up to see the nurse that had woken them. She had a smile plastered on her face.

"Dr. Paige would like to see you now. Your counselor."

 


	4. To Conclusions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas talks to his therapist and things don't go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for delusions, (auditory) hallucinations, death mention, ableist slurs and internalized ableism

"Hello, Thomas."

He sat in one of the rooms that Dr. Despain had shown him earlier; it was used for private counseling sessions. And here he was sitting in front of a tight-faced woman who appeared to be his counselor. Or therapist. Psychologist? Thomas didn't know the difference.

"My name is Dr. Ava Paige. You can refer to me as Dr. Paige or Counselor Paige if you wish," she said as she tucked a loose gray-blond strand of hair behind her ear that had fallen out of her stiff bun.

Thomas slowly nodded. He didn't know what to say.

It surprised him, but Dr. Paige broke the taut line of her mouth to smile at him. It was genuine-- he could tell because it reached her eyes-- and she suddenly looked much better. "Thomas," she spoke, her voice softer now, almost soothing, "I understand that this environmental change is difficult for you and the events leading up to your stay here may be hard to talk about. So let's start small. How do you like this facility?"

Thomas didn't know he had been holding his breath until what she said brought it flowing out in relief. He didn't know why he felt a sense of solace about not having to talk about himself. He didn't have much of an aversion to it before, but now the thought of his life before the hospital put a sense of discomfort in his stomach.

He thought about the girl in his dream.

Realizing that Dr. Paige was awaiting an answer, Thomas pretended to be deep in thought. "I don't dislike it," he said finally. "It's weird. I don't really get the other boys, not that I've talked to any of them a lot. Except for Newt, since he's my roommate. He's a weird guy; it's like his head's an oxymoron, or a paradox or something. I can tell he likes order but he seems to be scatterbrained despite that, probably because he doesn't get enough sleep. His speech is funny too, even for a Brit. I've also heard a bit from Minho. He's tactless and talks a lot. Alby too, but he seems alright. Oh, and there's also some weird guy at the table as well and I'm pretty sure he hates me."

Dr. Paige hummed thoughtfully. "And what about the rest of it-- the staff, the food, the schedule?"

"I'm not sure," Thomas shrugged. "The food's fine. I can't say much about the staff seeing as I've only really gotten on a last-name-basis with you and Dr. Despain so far. She gave me the tour and she seemed nice."

"Yes, I know her. We're good friends. She was one of my youngest interns here."

Thomas nodded. "I haven't done much with the schedule. Newt told me about Group, though. But he didn't seem enthused by it. I didn't read the schedule much past that."

"Did he tell you why he's here?" Dr. Paige asked suddenly. It wasn't rude or malicious, just unexpected.

"No," he shook his head. "But I think that his limp has something to do with it and I almost made the mistake of asking. He made it clear that he didn't want to talk about it." Thomas shuddered at the memory of Newt passively telling him that prying was wrong. He felt guilt clench his chest.

"And does he know why you're here?"

Again, Thomas shook his head, "No, but he woke me up from a nightmare this morning. He didn't ask anything about it, even when I made him explain to me what I was physically doing while I was dreaming."

"What were you doing?"

"He said I was thrashing around and screaming so he grabbed my wrists, but in my dream, something was attacking me and I was trying to get it off because right before that I had seen--" Thomas stopped abruptly. He hadn't even realized that he was talking so much. He hadn't planned to say any of that; what made him do it? Dr. Paige was asking very simple questions and he found himself answering them without even noticing the topic shifting.

"You had seen...?" The counselor looked thoughtful. When she received no response from him, she continued, "Thomas, you don't have to talk to me about this if you don't want to, but I strongly recommend it. It might lead to us figuring out what happened to you before you came here. What did you see?"

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed loudly. "I don't know. A girl. I recognized her, because I know who she is. Was. But no matter how hard I try to forget about her, she's always there." Her image flashed across his mind again; pale skin, blue eyes, dark hair, and that strange smile. Thomas shuddered.

"Who is she?" Dr. Paige asked.

Thomas let out a breath and didn't meet her eyes.

"My sister. Teresa."

That was the first time that Thomas had said his sister's name out loud in months, ever since her funeral. He felt pricks of tears stinging at his eyes and wiped them, trying to remove the blurry vision. Dr. Paige didn't have to say anything before he continued talking of his own accord.

"We grew up together. We were twins and therefore the same age so we occasionally fought, but we were still very close. She... died a couple of months ago. In a car accident." Thomas's voice wavered. He rubbed more furiously at his eyes, but the tears fell regardless and he sniffled loudly. He felt uncomfortable crying in front of Dr. Paige, but she simply reached over to her desk and handed him a box of tissues. He took a few and wiped his face before looking up to see her sympathetic expression.

"I'm very sorry to hear that, Thomas," she said. Her eyebrows were furrowed and she had genuine concern written all over her face. 

He blew his nose and tossed the tissue in the trashcan next to Dr. Paige's desk. He nodded, trying to hold back another wave of tears at his sister's memory. He wiped his reddened face with his hands again, then, in a slightly horse voice, he said all that he could think of: "Thanks."

The counselor smiled slightly and gave him a small nod, before her expression turned more solemn again. "Do you experience these kinds of dreams or memories often, Thomas?"

Thomas's words caught in his throat. He forced himself to let out a breath and shrug his shoulders slightly. "I don't know," he said. "Not really."

He could tell that Dr. Paige didn't buy it. He was starting to get sick of being an obvious liar. Newt had seen right through him earlier, even when he wasn't actively lying.

Thomas was ready to hear Dr. Paige call him out, but to his surprise and relief, she didn't question him further and instead simply asked, "Do you want to tell me about Teresa?"

"We told each other everything, always. Mom always joked about us being telepathic or something, since we'd always know what the other was thinking." Thomas found himself smiling at her memory and he let out a quiet laugh. "Sometimes we fought because of that though, but mostly we just confided in each other. She'd always tell me about the boys she liked and I'd try to help her get dates with them. She wanted to set me up with her friends too, but that hardly ever worked..." He trailed off, before starting again with a pain flowing through his chest. "The last guy she was with, he was reckless with his driving, and..."

"Thomas, Thomas, listen to me. Tell me about the good times you spent with her."

Thomas shook his head, having barely heard the counselor. He felt anger flare up inside of him and he clenched his fists, hardly feeling the pain of his nails digging into his palms. He couldn't take it.

"He killed her!" he yelled as sobs racked his figure. "He could have stopped it. She was his responsibility. She was in his car. And he killed her." Then Thomas stopped as he swatted away Dr. Paige's hand when she reached out to calm him down. The tears stopped coming and he put his fingers to his temples, staring at a spot on the ground. "And I let him."

He could feel Dr. Paige shaking her head in disagreement even though his eyes weren't focused on her. "No, Thomas, that's absurd. It's his fault that your sister died, not yours. You could do nothing to stop it."

Her words were vain against his ears. In that moment, all of his feelings came surging to the surface. All of his anger, all of his hatred, but most of all, his guilt.

"I killed her," Thomas said, and nothing had ever felt more real to him. His tone was strangely calm now, but filled with a distant void. "I killed Teresa. I told her that she could spend the night out with him. I helped her get a date with him. It's my fault."

"No, Thomas. You couldn't have known," Dr. Paige told him, her voice level as well. "You can't blame yourself for this."

He shook his head, and suddenly everything started to spill over the edge. "No. I can't stop seeing her everywhere. I try to ignore it but her voice is constantly in my mind, saying weird things that I don't understand, but mostly she just says my name. 'Tom, Tom, Tom,' and she never stops. Even when I don't hear her, I feel her presence, like she's haunting me. Don't you see? She's angry, because she knows that I did this."

Dr. Paige was looking at him with a sorrowful expression, like she was sorry for him. A mutual silence stretched between them for what felt like forever to Thomas. Finally, the counselor spoke: "Thomas, I'm going to make arrangements to extend your stay here, alright? I think it'd be for the best."

Thomas's heart caught in his throat. He shouldn't have said anything; she thought he was crazy.

_Maybe you are crazy, Tom._

"Hey, Thomas, are you with me?"

Thomas looked up at Dr. Paige and nodded slowly. She looked more concerned now. 

"Your mother can visit you this Saturday. She's very excited to see you and she's been worried about you."

He nodded, exhaling slowly and looking back at the floor. The anger was slowly ebbing away, but the thought of Teresa still burned in his mind. He hadn't noticed how hard he was clenching his fists until they started to hurt when he stopped.

"Thomas, look at me."

His gaze flicked up to meet hers but he didn't change his slouched posture. 

"Every time that you hear her in your head, I want you to count to ten. Every time you think that you might lose it or hurt yourself or others, count to ten. Then take a deep breath in through your nose for four counts, hold it for seven counts, then breathe out your mouth for eight. Try to remember that. Do you think you can do that?"

Thomas nodded, although he wasn't so sure. _Four, seven, eight._ It seemed easy enough.

"Thomas, do you deem yourself fit to go back to your room and not be a danger to anyone?"

That seemed like an odd question to ask to him, but he gave her a small nod in response. "Yeah, I think so. I'm calm, I swear."

"There are staff present in every hallway. You'll get checked on periodically as per schedule. I don't want to keep you here any longer today, so we will have a meeting again later. You can go now."

Thomas stood up quietly and moved to the door. He left the room, but the feeling of dread accompanied him nonetheless. He walked down the hall and towards his room, having almost completely mapped out the path now. He reached the room and walked in to see Newt sprawled on his bed, his face buried in a book.

"Hey, Newt," Thomas said as he entered and went to sit on his bed. Newt shifted to face him and closed his book, looking at Thomas with a weary expression.

"Had a fun talk?"

He shrugged and shook his head. It dawned on him that his face was probably still red and puffy from crying and he rubbed at his eyes self-consciously. Instead, he asked, "Had a fun walk?"

Newt snorted. "As if. My leg's killing me. I got off early 'cause it was hurtin' so bad."

"Does it still hurt you regularly?" Thomas asked. His eyebrows were furrowed in slight concern.

"Not usually. I try not to stress it much," his roommate said. He sat up and stretched his legs out in front of him, leaving them dangling off the side of the bed as he leaned against the wall behind it. "It's fully healed though, so I don't know where the notion that it can get better came from. It's like they're giving me false hope, ya know?"

Thomas frowned but didn't respond. He didn't want to feel sorry for Newt, but he did. He felt bad for it, like he was invalidating the older boy by feeling like that. 

Newt ran a hand through his blond hair, pushing the messy strands out of his face. "Tommy, you alright?" he asked, catching Thomas off-guard. 

Thomas wanted to say yes. He wanted to lie, but he found himself shaking his head instead, and the sting of tears was prevalent in his vision. He didn't meet Newt's gaze. "No," he said, truthfully for once.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know," he sighed and his voice wavered. "Everything. I'm going to be staying here longer than was expected, because I couldn't keep my damn mouth shut." He hated crying. He had thought he was done the moment he had walked out of Dr. Paige's office, but here he was, almost sobbing in front of Newt. He didn't know why, but this felt like a new low for him, like he had finally sunk down into the bottom of the abyss. 

Thomas felt the spot on the bed to his right sink in a little and looked up at Newt as he sat down next to him. Newt slung his arm around Thomas's shoulders and pulled him into a hug. "I'm sorry, Tommy," he whispered, his tone soft. "But you're gonna get through this, ya will. I've been here a mighty long time and I'm still kickin'. There's nothing wrong with needin' help sometimes."

"Thanks for the motivational speech, Newt," Thomas pulled away and wiped his face with his sleeve, sniffling. He hiccuped and rubbed his eyes. "But that doesn't change the fact that Dr. Paige thinks I'm crazy, and she's probably right. My mom even thinks I'm some suicidal psycho already, and--"

"Slim it!" Newt suddenly cut him off, grabbing his wrists and facing him towards himself. "Stop that right now, Tommy. I'm bloody serious. You don't get to say that, _ever._  Got it, ya lug?"

Thomas sat frozen, looking into the void of Newt's dark eyes. The blond boy looked more serious than Thomas had ever seen him, his glare burning a hole through the other boy.

"I _said_ , _got it?"_  

Thomas swallowed, then nodded slowly. Newt stared at him for another moment that felt like an eternity, then finally let go of him. He turned away, letting out a deep breath.

"I'm sorry."

"Shut it, Tommy. I know you're sorry. You're a newbie here, and it's to be expected. You either come in ignorant, or you come in silent. That's just how it is."

Thomas looked down at the floor, feeling ashamed regardless. He glanced back at Newt again, who wouldn't meet his gaze. He paused, before asking, "How did you come in?"

He was met with silence.

He took it as the answer, nodding quietly. "Okay, I get it. I really am sorry. Can I ask you something though?"

Newt snorted despite his mood and shifted his gaze towards Thomas. "Didn't you exhaust yourself with questions this morning?"

"Maybe, I guess. But this is kind of important."

"Fine, get on with it."

"How do you ignore it?"

Newt looked puzzled, cautiously asking, "Ignore what?"

"Why you're here, the things in your head. How do you make it stop?"

The blond boy shook his head and stood up from the bed, not facing Thomas. "I don't," he sighed. "That's why I'm here."


End file.
